


Muguet

by wheel_pen



Series: Wayland and Susannah [10]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cosmic Partners (wheel_pen), F/M, Tim Roth movie roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conqueror selects his bride from the defeated king’s daughters. A more original work not based on a specific movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muguet

            The last time they had met was on a battlefield, though technically they had only glimpsed each other from afar. It hadn’t been the time for really sizing each other up anyway—it was obvious, eventually, who had the better strategy, the stronger will, the more ruthless character. Now they sat across the table from one another in the Great Hall, free to stare all they liked while their minions waited, too well-trained to fidget or cough.

            Kaspar wasn’t so much sitting as _slouching_ , Demetre noted, and his so-called “finest suit” wouldn’t stand for even a _servant_ of royalty here—but what more could you expect from a barbarian? Of course, this barbarian was now in a position to dispose of Demetre’s kingdom, so the last thing he intended to do was criticize the other man’s posture or fashion. Still, he couldn’t help straightening up in his own chair a little, lifting his chin a notch—let the barbarous green eyes scrutinizing him so closely see how a _true_ king behaved, with dignity and respect.

            The door to the side opened and Queen Fleurette entered, attended by the royal guard. Demetre and his men stood immediately, then noticed with some surprise that the men across from them did not. Some of them seemed to want to, either because they knew they should or because the other half of the room had, but when they looked to their leader they found him firmly seated. Father Griffith nudged one of Kaspar’s advisers, who nudged another, who nudged Ivo, who seemed to be something along the lines of a duke and a close companion of their king. It was he who finally dared touch Kaspar’s elbow and give him a look of suggestion. Only then, and with an air of bemusement, did Kaspar and his men finally rise. By now, the Queen and the royal children were nearly at the table.

            When they had all been seated again, Father Griffith indicated the treaty that lay across the middle of the table. The contents had been decided via messengers from battlefield tent to castle, not that Demetre had any choice but to agree when Kaspar’s army occupied his lands. The mediating monk read the terms aloud solemnly. Demetre had to admit they were more favorable than he’d expected—he would have to swear fealty to Kaspar, of course, and pay him tribute in goods and men, but it seemed he would be left to rule the kingdom more or less as he had been. He just couldn’t call it _his_ kingdom any longer. It was really more of a blow to his kingly dignity, rather than a punitive measure against his people. Demetre tried to take comfort in that.

            Throughout the reading Kaspar’s eyes kept straying to the Queen and children. Demetre began to find it distracting, possibly rude. Of course, Kaspar had seen them before—when his men had finally crashed through the castle gate and poured into the courtyard, swarmed through the chambers looting and destroying, Kaspar himself had broken down the door to the tower room where Fleurette and the children had barricaded themselves. According to the Queen, he had merely stared at them, huddled together in a frightened mass like many a peasant family in the village below, then turned and left, posting two of his men outside to keep them from being bothered further. So perhaps the barbarian had some idea of respect after all.

            Or not. “Have them remove their veils,” Kaspar demanded suddenly, interrupting Father Griffith. He pointed rudely at the three eldest princesses, who wore veils across their faces.

            The room erupted in murmurs and whispers. “Sir,” Demetre began to explain, through slightly gritted teeth, “the veils are a custom here, for unmarried girls, to preserve their modesty—“

            “It’s a f-----g stupid custom,” Kaspar opined coarsely with a growl. “Who’d want to marry a woman when he hadn’t seen her face?”

            More murmurs. “Are you—interested in pursuing a marriage with one of the Princesses, milord?” Father Griffith asked delicately.

            “Well not _yet_ ,” Kaspar replied pointedly. Demetre nodded to his wife, who pursed her lips in disapproval but finally signaled to her daughters to do as was asked. Meanwhile, the men on both sides of the table hurriedly recalculated their positions based on this new development.

            The men of Demetre’s kingdom did not look at the girls’ uncovered faces; it was an awkward moment for them. The men of Kaspar’s gawked openly, titillated by anything that smacked of the forbidden. The girls themselves stared at their laps demurely, cheeks flushed with embarrassment—though one dared to glance up, briefly.

            “Her,” Kaspar said, pointing again. “What’s that one called?”

            Good G-d, he might have been talking about a horse or something, Demetre thought, trying to maintain his calm. “The three eldest Princesses are Rosine, Muguet, and Yolanthe,” Marcellus, Demetre’s chief counsel, revealed.

            “Moo-gay?” Kaspar pronounced, the name sounding unpleasant on his tongue. “Stand up.” The girl stood; this time she kept her eyes firmly downcast. “I’ll take that one,” he decided. Her sisters were visibly relieved as the Princess sat again. “Write it in,” Kaspar insisted, tapping the treaty.

            “Sir,” Demetre cut in, “Princess Muguet is but a child—“

            “Does she bleed?” Kaspar asked, crude and to the point.

            It was not within Demetre’s position to discuss such things—at least, not in mixed company. “She does,” the Queen instead confirmed, stiffly. The girls were no doubt burning with embarrassment, though their veils were once again firmly in place.

            “Then she can be married,” Kaspar deduced. “Write it in.”

            With a nod from his advisers Demetre leaned forward to press this slim advantage. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.” There were several points in the treaty that could bear modification in his kingdom’s favor.

            Kaspar’s intense gaze pivoted from the young princess back to her father. “As my army withdraws,” he began evenly, “we will destroy whatever we encounter. Every village, every field.”

            It took a moment for those present to realize what he’d said. Demetre’s men were incensed; Kaspar’s men rose to the challenge. The barbarian king merely sat and stared at his chosen Princess.

            “Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Father Griffth insisted. “I’m sure there is room for compromise! If His Majesty wishes to marry the Princess—“

            “Aren’t you already married?” asked young Lucien rashly. He’d had an eye on Muguet himself.

            “She’s dead,” Kaspar replied dismissively, as though it were of little import. “I need someone… to look after the children.” Well, there were worse duties he could have mentioned.

            “Perhaps you’d be willing to give up control of the port of Moises,” Demetre said in a hard tone.

            “Perhaps I could take the girl from her bed tonight, and burn Moises to the ground on my way home,” Kaspar countered evenly.

            “The annual tax burden could be reduced,” Demetre pressed.

            “And my army could stay encamped here, living off the bounty of your land, until the wedding,” Kaspar suggested. It was not a concession.

            “Consider a bride-price,” Marcellus tried.

            “I’ll forgo a dowry,” Kaspar shot back.

            “Her children will not inherit this kingdom,” Demetre ground out. He would not see his family’s rule, secondary or not, displaced by a barbarian dynasty.

            “Agreed,” Kaspar replied, startling everyone. There was a pause as they waited to see if he would qualify his statement somehow. But he didn’t.

            Marcellus seemed to see this as progress. “Perhaps you could remove the garrison at Artagnon. As a wedding gift,” he suggested boldly.

            “One girl, for a whole garrison of soldiers?” Kaspar remarked, with a lewd undertone. “She must have a lot of stamina.”

            “Sir, you are speaking of a royal princess—“

            “How dare you make such a—“

            “We shall not sit by and—“

            “Princess,” Kaspar addressed, cutting through the noise and staring directly at the girl. “What do _you_ want as a wedding gift?”

            Every head in the room turned towards the young Princess. There was a pause. An awkward, uncomfortable pause. Finally the girl straightened up a little. “I want a wedding feast,” she announced, “with pheasants and quail, like my cousin Blanche had.” The men on Kaspar’s side snickered to themselves, while those on Demetre’s looked like they wanted to throttle her.

            Only Kaspar remained fully attentive. “Anything else?”

            Now that her moment had come, the girl was obviously thinking hard. “A peacock,” she decided firmly.

            Demetre couldn’t stand it and tried to cut in. “Obviously the girl is—“

            Kaspar leaned forward, ignoring the King to focus on the Princess. “Anything else?”

            “Well,” the Princess began slowly, “I wish your soldiers wouldn’t hurt anyone, or steal anything. It’s winter soon, and times are hard enough already,” she finished in a small voice, daring to glance up once.

            Kaspar leaned back, the room silent for a long moment as he considered this. Then he glanced at Ivo. “Write it in,” he decided.

            “Is the marriage agreed, then?” Ivo asked across the table in a business-like tone. Demetre sighed and nodded.

            Father Griffith clapped his hands together suddenly, startling people. “Well, how wonderful!” he declared with forced cheer. “A marriage to celebrate the peace treaty! A marriage is a blessing for all!”

            “Why ain’t _you_ married, then?” asked one cheeky youngster on the barbarian side.

            Father Griffith deftly ignored him. “Well, gentlemen, there are just a few details about the language to be worked out, so—“

            “Take care of that,” Kaspar ordered Ivo. “Somewhere else.” He stared at Princess Muguet meaningfully. “Leave us.” To the victor went the spoils, including the right to force a large group out of the biggest room in the castle.

            Demetre could see that protest was useless at this point, so he merely stood with all the dignity he could muster. Not that it mattered; Kaspar was looking at the girl, not him, and hadn’t stood up anyway. The men started to file out of the room.

            “The Queen and children can go,” Kaspar stated firmly, “except my intended.”

            The Queen looked to her husband for guidance. “The Princess must not be left alone—“

            “I’ve already agreed to marry her,” Kaspar snapped. “I didn’t specify that she had to be a virgin bride.” Noises of protest met this crude declaration, but Kaspar was determined to have his way. “Get out!” he shouted, and the youngest royal child started to cry in his mother’s arms. The Queen, sacrificing her second daughter to save the others, swept coldly from the room with the rest of her brood. “Out,” Kaspar reiterated, glancing at the guards stationed unobtrusively around the room. When they were gone, he and Muguet were completely alone.

            “Take off your veil,” he told her after a moment. She did so. “Do you know who I am?”

            “You’re King Kaspar,” she answered promptly, eyes down.

            “No other name?” he pressed.

            “Some call you the Wolf of Wittenberg,” she tried.

            He brought his fist down hard on the table, making her jump. “G-------t! Don’t toy with me!” he snapped. “Do you know who I am or not?”

            Her blue eyes lifted to meet his. “I know who you are,” she confirmed, in a familiar tone that would have greatly confused any eavesdroppers. “I recognized you when you burst into the tower.”

            Kaspar leaned forward. “Do you remember everything?”

            “How would I know, my lord?” she asked cheekily.

            He blinked at her. “Are you mocking me?” he asked with some disbelief.

            Muguet laughed a little bit. “Your sense of humor hasn’t come through,” she accused. “Or perhaps that beard just hides your smile, hmm?” He rolled his eyes. “Perhaps they call you the Wolf of Wittenberg because you’re so shaggy.”

            Now he glared at her. “I won’t put up with that kind of cheek,” he warned. “I don’t care for frivolity.”

            “That’s too bad,” Muguet remarked. “I’m a very frivolous girl.”

            “So I’ve noticed,” Kaspar agreed. “Anyone who asks for a _peacock_ at a treaty negotiation deserves to have some sense beaten into them.”

            “I’m sure my father will try.”

            “He’d better not,” Kaspar growled suddenly.

            “Privilege reserved only for husbands?” Muguet asked archly.

            Kaspar sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I won’t beat you.” He offered it like a compromise.

            Muguet snorted in an un-princess-like way. “You couldn’t anyway,” she sniffed with disdain. “Come on, Wayland! I remember when you’ve been _very_ frivolous,” she added coaxingly. “You wouldn’t make my life miserable, would you?”

            He met her gaze again. “I suppose not, Susannah.”

            She grinned. “Good. Can we have a smile, then?”

            “Only if you do something funny,” he deadpanned. She stuck out her tongue. “You do that again and I’ll leap across this table and put your tongue to good use,” he threatened. She thought for a moment, then slowly and deliberately stuck it out again. Kaspar narrowed his eyes at her—then jerked forward. Muguet jumped up with a squeal and Kaspar settled back into his seat with a smirk. She gave him a look of exasperation.

            “Go back to your mother,” he dismissed, satisfied. “Princess,” he called, and she turned back at the door. “Remember, I conquered half the known world to find you. I won’t make you miserable.” The girl smiled a little at him, then secured her veil and slipped from the room.

 

***

 

            “Now if we put the garrisons on _this_ side of the river, they won’t have to cross it to get to the frontier—“

            “Yes, but we’ll have to cross it to supply them, and when the river rises in the flood season—“

            “How often will they need to go to the frontier—“

            “It’s not how _often_ , it’s how _quickly_ —“

            The door to the Great Hall opened and Princess Muguet bounced in, followed by two of her attendants. Kaspar glanced up at her, then turned pointedly back to the map on the table in an attempt to ignore her. The other men followed suit—their leader had made it clear that the Princess could go wherever she wanted around the castle and wasn’t to be bothered, even if she invaded a conference in the Great Hall itself, but that didn’t mean the men had to stop what they were doing and fawn over her. But the Princess was not so easily discouraged from seeking attention.

            “Are you working on our wedding plans?” she asked intrusively.

            “Every waking moment,” Kaspar said dryly. He tapped the map, speaking to his men. “What about here? Could we station the garrison here?”

            Muguet pushed her way to the table and peered closely at the spot he indicated. The soldiers tripped over themselves backing away from her as though she had some contagious disease—they didn’t want to be accused by their leader of harassing the Princess in any way. “Why would anyone want to go _there_?” she sniffed dismissively. Bored, she skipped away with her maids, examining the tapestries and furnishings in this room that she had so rarely been free to move about. “It’s just a bunch of rocks and an old well.”

            Kaspar looked over at her with a very slight double-take. “Have you been there?”

            “Of course,” Muguet replied, more interested in trying to move some part of a decorative suit of armor stationed near the fireplace, which she had never been allowed to touch before. “Papa has a summer home in Sommeliel,” she went on, producing a rusty screech from the suit’s arm that made them all wince. “He would make us climb to the top of the rocks and point out all the provinces we could see. It’s quite dreadful and dull.”

            Kaspar gave his men a significant look. “Seems worth checking out,” he suggested. “Perhaps you’re not totally useless after all,” he added to Muguet. Then, “Stop that, you’ll lose a finger.”

            She left the suit of armor and started practicing the steps of a new dance with her maids. “Are you getting my peacock?” she asked frivolously. “I really want that peacock!”

            Kaspar rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m getting your d—n peacock,” he assured her. He scratched idly at his newly-trimmed beard, whose styling he’d assured Ivo had _nothing_ to do with the impertinent Princess referring to him as a _mangy bear_ the other day. “Is the peacock supposed to be alive, or are you going to eat it?”

            “I’m going to eat it, of course,” Muguet replied. “But, it’s to be served like it’s still alive, with the head and the tail feathers all arranged in a fan. Oh, and I get to keep the feathers.”

            “What on earth for?”

            “I don’t know,” the Princess mused without concern. “Perhaps I’ll wear them in my hair and start a fashion!”

            Kaspar saw Ivo smirking slightly and glared at him until he quit. “Well mind you don’t get mistaken for a peacock yourself,” he muttered darkly, “and end up the centerpiece at someone else’s wedding feast.”

            He tried to go back to his military discussion with his men, but the giggling girls were undeniably distracting. One of the maids was a bit older and made bold, flirtatious eyes at some of the men—Kaspar could see she was going to be trouble. It wasn’t until the girls started rhythmically clapping, though, that he became truly annoyed.

            “What the h—l are you doing?”

            Muguet gave him her own look of annoyance. “We’re practicing a new dance for the wedding feast.” She brightened. “Shall I teach you?”

            “Absolutely not,” Kaspar replied, turning his back on her immediately.

            “Oh, come on,” Muguet insisted. She tried to tug on his arm but it was like trying to budge an iron cross-beam. “How else will you learn it before the wedding feast?”

            “There won’t be any dancing,” Kaspar declared. “Let go!”

            “No dancing?” Muguet responded, with something akin to horror. “There _must_ be dancing!”

            “No. We don’t dance.” Well, _Kaspar_ didn’t dance, and therefore, there was no dancing at court functions he attended.

            “But I want dancing!” the Princess demanded, her voice dangerously close to a whine.

            “Well you should’ve asked for that instead of a peacock,” Kaspar shot back in irritation. “And if you don’t shut up about it,” he added when she really _did_ start to whine, “there won’t be any music at all!”

            Muguet quieted instantly—but pouted impressively as she sat down beside the fire, glaring at Kaspar. He almost smirked but didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “So here and here?” he suggested, indicating a couple other sites on the map. His men took a closer look, nodding and annotating the map.

            He let the Princess stew for a few minutes. “Will you go away and quit bothering me if I give you a present?” he asked wearily.

            She perked up immediately. “ _Have_ you a present?” she asked, a bit suspiciously.

            He pulled a golden chain out of his pocket—he carried it around just in case, you know—and the Princess seemed suitably excited. “For me?” she asked in delight, snatching it from his hands.

            “Yes, unless it was your maid I f----d last night, in which case it’s for her,” Kaspar deadpanned, looking pointedly at the flirtatious attendant. “Those veils make it so—Ow!”

            “That’s a horrible thing to say!” Muguet judged, having pinched his arm hard. “It’s quite shocking and rude!”

            “Well that’s what little girls are likely to hear when they hang about with grown-ups,” Kaspar retorted. “You’ve got your present, now get out.”

            “I didn’t agree!” Muguet reminded him, nevertheless dancing towards the door.

            “Out!”

            “I didn’t agree!”

            He shook his head as her steps faded down the hallway and rubbed his arm again where she’d pinched it. “I’m marrying a _parakeet_ ,” he muttered under his breath. But if any of his men were smirking when he looked up, there were going to be some black eyes handed out.

 

***

 

            Princess Muguet had quickly learned that if she could escape from the supervision of her mother, she had much more freedom than she’d ever experienced at the castle. As a royal princess she’d been cloistered, isolated, taught that she had to behave in very strict ways—a princess must be above reproach in her conduct, she must be able to present a spotless record to a potential husband. Well, now she _had_ a potential husband, and he didn’t seem to care if she fidgeted in Mass or ate an extra helping of pudding. So really, all the rules her mother had drummed into her were beginning to fall to pieces. And Muguet didn’t mind one bit.

            Today, for example, she was out in the yard—in the stableyard!—with all the soldiers of the “enemy,” as the Queen insisted upon calling her future son-in-law in private, and all the servants and the animals and all the other beings Muguet wasn’t supposed to fraternize with. _And_ she was getting dirty—hopping in mud puddles with some of her younger siblings. The Queen would be very displeased later, but Muguet didn’t much care about that right now. As long as she knew Kaspar was nearby, she felt safe.

            “Well, it’s more traditional for the King to ride out at the head of the army—“

            “When going to war, maybe, but it’s a pointless procession if we’re just retuning home.” Kaspar leaned against one of the wagons being loaded with supplies in the stableyard. “I’ll be going slower with the excess baggage and there’s no reason for everyone else to be held up because of it.”

            Ivo wondered if his leader realized that he’d just referred to his future queen as “excess baggage.” Probably not. “Well, you can’t travel at the _very_ end, surely,” he argued, stepping aside as some barrels were rolled past. “What if there’s some sort of local resistance, or Demetre tries to go back on his word and attack you?”

            “There shouldn’t be any local resistance if the army is behaving as ordered,” Kaspar reminded him. “No looting, no vandalism, no harassment.” Ivo’s look indicated he wasn’t sure how easy that would be to achieve. “And Demetre won’t attack us.”

            “Because you’ll have his daughter with him?” Ivo suggested, glancing towards the girl who was currently splattering mud on all passersby (the higher in rank, the better).

            Kaspar snorted. “No. He simply doesn’t have the b—ls for betrayal. Too honorable.” He said this with the tone of mild contempt he felt it deserved.

            “So we can trust him to send the goods and tribute as he agreed?” Ivo asked dryly.

            Kaspar gave him a brief smirk. “Well, that’s what the garrisons are for.”

            “’Ere, watch it!” someone shouted, as a team of horses and a pair of servants carrying a chicken coop nearly collided. A man tugging on the leashes of several large dogs was forced to dodge and two of the beasts slipped from his grasp to race across the yard, barking and chasing loose farm animals. Some of the men laughed at the additional chaos and Kaspar was about to go back to his conversation when suddenly there was a high-pitched scream. The two dogs were bounding rapidly towards Princess Muguet, who stood frozen in place with terror.

            “Augustus! Quintanus!” Kaspar called, running across the yard after the dogs. “Go away, stop it, down!” He pushed the dogs away from the girl, who ducked and flailed her arms uselessly. “Take them away, go on! Look, they’re gone now,” he added once the animals were under control. Muguet blinked at him for a moment, then burst loudly into tears. Tears were not Kaspar’s forte. “What’s wrong? Did they bite you?”

            She shook her head. “I don’t like big dogs!”

            “Oh. Well, um—“ He glanced around but all his men quickly turned away, reluctant to come to his aid with a sobbing girl. “Come here.” He took her hand and drew her over to a stack of crates, which he sat down on. “Come on.” He set the girl on his lap. “Now, um, you see, those are wolfhounds,” he tried to explain. “They’re war dogs. They won’t—“ Well, being war dogs, they _could_ very well hurt her. “Best to stay away from them, really.”

            “They’re so big!” Muguet wailed, getting mud all over her veil as she tried to wipe her eyes. “I’ve never seen dogs so big!”

            “Is this just for the benefit of the crowd?” he murmured in her ear. But she shook her head, apparently sincere in her distress. “Um, well, they’re much smaller as puppies,” he tried. “What dogs do you have here?”

            “We haven’t any dogs,” Muguet sniffed. “Mama doesn’t like pets.”

            “Oh, one ought to have dogs,” Kaspar opined. “Hmm. Come on.” He set the girl back on her feet and dragged her across the muddy yard. “Can I borrow your horse?” he asked of one of his men, who stood beside his saddled animal.

            “Of course, sir,” the man answered, as he must.

            “Up you go.” Kaspar easily lifted the girl onto the horse, then swung up behind her.

            She looked nervously down at the ground. “This horse is awfully large as well.”

            His sympathy only went so far. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses, too,” he scoffed.

            “Well, I don’t think _our_ horses are as large,” Muguet replied defensively, still sniffling a little.

            “I hope you’re not afraid of _all_ large things,” Kaspar deadpanned, still within earshot of some of his men, all of whom were straining to catch every word.

            “Oh, terribly so, I just _despise_ large things,” Muguet shot back innocently. Now that _was_ for the benefit of the crowd, who were chuckling behind them. “Where are we going?”

            Kaspar pointed the horse away from the castle. “Down to the camp. Just hold on and you’ll be fine.”

            The two of them rode down the dirt path leading from the castle to the village below, then veered off towards the rows of tents where Kaspar’s army was encamped. “How can you possibly be afraid of dogs?” he asked her.

            She seemed rather embarrassed by the whole episode by this point. “I just _am_ ,” she replied shortly. “My father had some large hunting dogs that used to run about when I was small,” she added after a moment. “They were quite intimidating.”

            It had not escaped Kaspar’s notice that they were alone for perhaps the first time since meeting, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I was afraid you might blast them into pieces in front of everyone.”

            “It was very difficult not to,” she admitted. Her hands curled around his arm.

            He glanced around. “You know, we _could_ take a small detour,” he murmured, nodding towards the copse of trees off to the left.

            “But we’re not married yet, my lord,” she replied primly. He wasn’t sure if she was serious or not.

            Before he could press his case further he heard the pounding of hoofbeats and saw an officer from the camp riding up. “G-------t,” he growled under his breath. “Can’t go anywhere.”

            “My lord,” the man greeted respectfully, looking slightly confused and alarmed by his leader’s unexpected visit—and by his odd companion. Muguet was suddenly painfully aware of her mud-spattered clothes, which were not very dignified. “May I escort you, sir?”

            “No. Run ahead and tell Christoph the dog man I’m coming to see him,” Kaspar ordered instead, and the man did as he was told.

            “The _dog_ man?” Muguet repeated with some uncertainty.

            “He looks after the dogs.”

            “Oh. That’s not as strange as I’d imagined.”

            “Well,” Kaspar added thoughtfully, “he does sort of look like a bulldog.”

            They didn’t have to ride too far into the surprisingly well-organized camp to reach their destination—not too many people wanted to bunk next to the tent with a yard full of huge barking dogs beside it. They looked somewhat smaller from Muguet’s current height, but she stuck close to Kaspar once he’d lifted her down from the horse—the wolfhounds yelped and snarled at her from behind the flimsy-looking fence made of tree branches.

            “Why did you bring me here again?” she demanded peevishly.

            At that moment a portly man with a wrinkled face and a noticeable overbite emerged from the tent. “Commander,” he greeted with a familiar nod and a jovial smile. “What can I do for you?” He glanced at the muddy girl with open curiosity.

            “Do you have any puppies?” Kaspar asked without preamble. “I want to give her one.”

            “I’m not sure I _want_ a puppy,” Muguet countered uncertainly. Especially not one that grew up into a beast.

            “Every child should have a pet,” Kaspar stated definitively, ignoring her hesitation.

            “Indeed so, milord!” Christoph agreed with enthusiasm. “Many’s the happy hour I spent with my own menagerie as a wee tyke. As it happens, I do have a litter just weaned.”

            He gestured for Kaspar and Muguet to enter his tent, which was more spacious than the Princess had imagined—and also much smellier. Her eyes began to water from the concentrated scent of _dog_ and she almost missed the _producers_ of the scent, who padded around the tent unfettered. She gripped Kaspar’s arm with both hands when she realized this.

            “They won’t hurt you,” he said brusquely. “Just don’t bother them.”

            “Here they are,” Christoph revealed proudly, directing their attention to one corner. A handful of puppies romped in sight of their mother, jumping on each other, yipping earnestly, and grappling over bits of rope. “Fine lot. I was just about to start their training.”

            “Even _that_ one?” Kaspar asked pointedly, indicating one puppy off to the side with a disparaging tone.

            “Oh! It’s so much smaller than the others!” Muguet observed with interest. “Is it a little brother?”

            “Er, well, it’s a girl, actually,” Christoph corrected, “and the runt of the litter. I was going to drown it soon, of course,” he assured his commander, “and not waste—“

            “Drown it?!” Muguet repeated in horror. “Just for being _small_?!” Her tone became indignant.

            Christoph glanced toward Kaspar for guidance but received none, as the other man merely rolled his eyes. “Well, she won’t be big enough to go on the battlefield,” the dog man explained, “and neither would her pups, so there’s no use for her. She’s just taking food from the others.”

            “Well, you ought not to drown her,” Muguet insisted. “Perhaps she has other talents, instead of _being large_.” Clearly she did not think that was much of a talent anyway.

            “Yes, perhaps she dances well,” Kaspar added dryly. “Why don’t you take that one as a pet, then?”

            “Well, I-I suppose I will,” Muguet decided, leaning down to look at the small creature. “Should I pick her up? Will she bite me?”

            Christoph showed her how to approach the puppy and soon it was licking her hand and chasing her around the tent for the bit of rope she dragged. Muguet giggled loudly.

            “Cute kid,” Christoph remarked fondly to his commander.

            “She’s my intended,” Kaspar informed him.

            “Lovely young lady,” Christoph corrected himself without hesitation. “She’ll make a fine queen.” At the moment Muguet was shrieking gleefully as the puppy licked her veil and face.

            “Come on, then,” Kaspar told her, giving Christoph a parting nod. “We should get back to the castle before your mother misses you.”

            “Oh, Mama won’t like you at all, will she?” the Princess cooed to her new pet. “But don’t worry, I shall protect you. Hmm, what does she eat?” she inquired of Kaspar. “Where ought she to sleep? I don’t want her to get cold. Perhaps I shall name her Blossom!”

            Kaspar swung up on the horse behind the chattering girl, fearing it would be a very long ride back to the castle.


End file.
